


I'm gonna be here 'till I'm nothing

by ideservetobeloved



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Getting Old Together, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, I am so sorry, Kissing, M/M, So don't expect too much, idek, loads of kissing, this is basically just a big pile of me obsessing over wincest, this is my first fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 06:49:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6843667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideservetobeloved/pseuds/ideservetobeloved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven times they kiss before it becomes a habit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm gonna be here 'till I'm nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Hey lovelies, I hope you're having a wonderful, wincest-y day :)  
> I know it's sort of cliche to say this, but it's my first fic on this platform and also my first fic in a foreign language and it's also unbeta'd so I hope it's not too bad... Have fun with this, I hope you like it!
> 
> Title taken from Radical Face - Always Gold

The first time they kiss is after Sam announces that he is going to leave them to go to Stanford. There is yelling, he and his father are throwing terrible words at each other, and it all ends with John banning his youngest from ever setting a foot back into their house.

Dean is relatively quiet, trying to deal with this horrible black hole in his gut that’s telling him, _he’s leaving, he’s leaving and he’s never coming back_. He pretends he doesn’t care, tells Sam to fuck off already when his brother turns to him for help, for support. The hurt in his eyes is like a stab to the stomach.

He is running after him anyways, catching him by the wrist just at the end of the street and yanking him around. Dean looks up to him (when did little Sammy get taller than him?), eyes looking black in the dim light coming from the windows, and he doesn’t know how it happens but somehow their lips are pressed together, Sam’s raw and a little wet.

Dean is breathing hard, he feels blood rushing through his ears and he can barely hear himself whisper, “Please don’t go.”

But he does, and Dean can’t help thinking that maybe everything is his fault. Later, when they are “up and at ‘em” together again, they never mention it, but he is positive Sam hasn’t forgotten either.  


*

The second time they kiss is after the case with the so-called “faith healer” and all the crap with the reaper and whatnot, and they’re drunk.

Really drunk, not just tipsy, they were out at a bar, drinking and playing poker and pretending to be normal – which let alone is weird enough because they never do that.

Dean cannot recall the last time they actually did something together that wasn’t about a job… probably never. It’s… nice.

Perhaps it’s just the fact that they were able to run out death once more, that Dean did neither die from a heart condition nor from a servant of death himself (really, he doesn’t understand his luck), but everything feels so much closer with Sam than usual, so intimate.

They enter the crappy motel room they’re staying in, giggling and playfully holding on to each other because neither of them can walk straight anymore. It feels as if they were twenty years younger, playing hide and seek at night while trying not to be caught by their father who is sleeping in the other room.

Dean looks up and Sam’s face is right there, he’s just _there_ , and he’s smiling at him, and Dean just can’t help it. It’s just a little shift of his head, and then he presses his lips onto those of his baby brother for a split second.

When he draws back slowly, Sam looks at him with this weird, inexplicable look in his eyes, and Dean feels red creeping over his face, his heartbeat loud and fast in his ears.

Silence sweeps through the room before his brother lowers his gaze, just the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but it’s dark and maybe that’s just Dean’s drunken self imagining things.

“Get some sleep”, the younger brother whispers, before he disappears into the bathroom.

Neither of them brings it up the next morning, or ever, and when Sam is hanging over the toilet spilling out the contents of his stomach, Dean is not even sure he remembers anything. It’s probably better that way, if he’s being honest.

 *

The third time they kiss, only Sam is drunk. Dean kind of wishes that he was too, because maybe then it wouldn’t be so fucking hard to look at his brother’s face, sweaty and desperate, all wide dark eyes, begging.

“You have to promise me”, he says and Dean hates him for it, for drinking while they are on a case, for being so… so _Sam_ , for asking this of him. For asking him to kill him. And maybe Dean hates himself a little (or a lot) for not being able to resist those pleading eyes.

“I promise”, he replies. The words feel foul leaving his mouth, rotten and evil; they wrap themselves tightly around his throat and choke him, punishing him. He didn’t want to say it, but Sam is there and he is looking at him and Dean would give this shattered kid everything he asks for, his own life and probably more.

Sam’s features twist slightly when the promise is spoken, tears standing in his eyes. “Thanks”, he whispers. He doesn’t even look drunk anymore, just sad, so incredibly sad. “Thank you.”

Dean doesn’t even know how it happens, Sam’s hands clutch his necks and then there is a pair of lips pressed against his own. The kiss is sloppy and wet and tastes like stale alcohol and Dean doesn’t want to respond but he _wants it so much_ , getting lost in the feeling, melting into the kiss.

It feels as if he is made of ice and Sam is the sun; and Dean is just slowly dissolving into a puddle of water at his brother’s feet which feels better than anything has in a long time.

Finally he comes to his senses and disentangles their limbs trying to clear his head of the fog that numbs his thoughts and makes him want to sink into that bed together with Sam, breathing him in.

But he doesn’t, of course not. Instead he lets his little drunk brother sink into the pillows, sits down on the other bed and just looks at his sleeping figure for a long time, attempting to ignore this stupid sinking feeling in his gut telling him that there is no way that this will end well.

 *  


The fourth time they kiss is more one-sided. It is one-sided because Sam is dead, or almost dead, and Dean is having trouble to breathe. He is clutching his brother’s lifeless body tighter, not sure who he wants to hold together.

Empty words are leaving his mouth, phrases without sense or use, while he is stroking over Sam’s hair over and over again whispering “Sammy” and “It’s okay” and “We’ll fix this” and “No” with stifled sobs escaping his lips once in a while.

He doesn’t notice (or doesn’t care?) that it started raining, or that their clothes are soaked with mud, everything he can focus on right now is the pale face of his little brother, his baby brother, his Sammy. With shaky fingers he’s pushing the hair out of the other’s eyes, asking himself how he is supposed to keep going now.

Hastily he presses his lips against Sam’s, again and again, scattering little kisses all over his face, almost as if he is trying to get a reaction out of the dead boy, but his skin is already cold and there is no response.

That’s when Dean starts crying, heavy, wet sobs rumbling through his body, broken sounds that make him bury his nose in the crook of Sam’s neck, hands gripping tightly. In that moment he wants to die as well because how is he supposed to go on now? How is he supposed to put up with all that crap thrown at him without his brother as a steady rock to help him keep his sanity?

It’s how Bobby finds them, one dead body and one broken boy, and it takes him a long time to convince Dean to let go of his brother.

 *  


The fifth time they kiss is after Dean came back from hell and has some trouble convincing his brother of being himself, of being _Dean_ and not some evil supernatural dick trying to mess with their heads. Not that he can blame Sammy really. If he is being honest, he would probably react exactly the same. He _was_ dead after all.

He desperately tries to ignore the little sting of jealousy that shoots through his chest when he notices the girl behind Sam, only dressed in panties and a top, sending a pretty clear message.

Well, of course Dean doesn’t really _care_. Sam’s a freakin’ adult, he’s got the right to… Have sex? Be with… people? That aren’t Dean?

Oh god, what is he thinking. As if Sam would ever be with his brother, that’s ridiculous. And disgusting.

The point is, he is absolutely not jealous of this girl. At all. Nope. He doesn’t even look at her.

Sam’s features soften as finally wraps his head around the idea that his dead brother is, well, _not so much dead_ after all. Dean goes in for a hug because that’s what they do, what they always do. Hug each other, looking for comfort, for safety.

Only this time, their lips brush briefly together.

Dean isn’t sure if it came from him or Sam, or both, but it definitely happened, and he feels his body go stiff for a second before he melts into the familiar embrace.

Neither of them looks the other one in the eye when they let go, awkward silence stretching between them, and Dean just hopes that nobody saw it. Because that one would be a bitch to explain.

 *  


The sixth time they kiss Dean doesn’t want to remember. Because they fuck afterwards.

It’s not so much that it wasn’t the best sex he ever had (it definitely was) but he later finds out Sam didn’t have a soul when it happened. And to be honest he’d rather not face the hot, boiling shame that comes up inside of him as he realizes they didn’t fuck because Sam was a hundred percent happy and content with it but rather because he was a soulless bastard with no emotions who just felt like it.

He is so _relieved_ that Sam doesn’t remember anything from that time, and he takes great care not to mention anything that could suggest something like this ever happened. He is just so _ashamed_ , so disgusted of himself, it’s pathetic.

To soothe his conscience a little bit he tries to tell himself that it wasn’t consensual, that soulless Sam forced him to do it. But deep inside, he knows that’s far from true.

He liked it. Hell, he even _wanted_ it. Maybe Sam was the one to initiate it, but Dean knows he was a more than willing participant.

Maybe it isn’t even that much that it happened at all. Maybe it’s the fact that Dean knows he should be sorry for it when he isn’t.

Yes, there’s shame. So much shame. There’s fear, confusion. There’s disgust. Perhaps a little arousal when he thinks back to it.

But there’s no regret.

When Sam finally does remember, Dean is afraid to mention it, afraid to ask if he remembers _that_ as well.

But then, one time, his fingertips brush accidently over Sam’s thigh as they’re sitting in the Impala because he wants to pick some other music, and his brother jolts back as if the other’s skin was electrically charged, the tips of his ears flaming red as he tries to play it cool, and Dean _knows_.

Sam remembers. Of course he does.

 *  


The seventh time they kiss is after Bobby died. It’s still hard to talk about, hard to think about even, and neither of them is able to fully grasp what it means. Mechanically they go through the motions of the usual Hunter’s funeral, salting and burning the corpse of the only father they’ve known since John Winchester’s death.

They are alone, they are hurt, confused, disoriented, they don’t know what to do.

And maybe they just want something to fill the void Bobby left. Something to distract themselves from the gaping black hole yawning inside their chests, to get rid of the numbness weighing heavily on their hearts, refusing to let the pain get to them.

They go to Rufus’s cabin, the familiar little house wide and empty without Bobby’s snarky remarks and complaints, but there’s nowhere else to go for them. It’s a depressing thought, but their family is dead, their friends are dead, so many people died just because Sam and Dean Winchester _existed_ , it’s like they are standing on a pile of dead bodies, the only ones alive.

It’s just like they have killed every single one of them with their own bare hands.

As soon as they step through the door they’re reaching out for each other, fingers intertwining and no one has to say anything as lips find each other. Maybe it’s wrong, maybe it’s disgusting, but in that moment they don’t care, perhaps they never did.

It’s just them, skin against skin and lips against lips. The world quiets down for a while and if Dean’s cheeks are a little wet as he nuzzles into Sam’s neck, no one has to know.

They’re lying on one of the beds, which is way too small for two grown men, all tangled limps and soft touches, just doing nothing. Sam is quietly humming some melody; Dean thinks he recognizes AC/DC which makes him smile slightly. He breathes in his brother’s familiar scent, a smell that reminds him of the road, rainy summer afternoons and home.

Feeling more calm and at ease than he has in a long time, he buries his face in Sam’s chest. Sensing the soothing vibrations of Sam’s soft humming against his temple, Dean falls asleep, for once not worrying about the world collapsing at his feet.

 *  


It kind of becomes a habit after that. A few kisses here and there, after a successful hunt or after a close call, sleepy good morning kisses and tipsy good night kisses, and sometimes just for the sake of it.

They never talk about it; never acknowledge this _thing_ growing between them, neither of them really knowing what it is exactly. It’s not like Dean really _wants_ to know anyway, he’d rather not think about what they are doing, looking at the fact that they’re, well, brothers…

Well, it’s already been established a few times that he is going to end up in hell, right?

After a little while, they also have sex. Sometimes. Again, they don’t talk about it, maybe they never will. Dean’s memories of those times are mostly a little fuzzy anyway, all desperate, clutching hands and frantic open-mouthed kisses. At times, when it feels like the weight of the world is crushing their shoulders, silent tears are making the kisses taste slightly salty, but Dean never knows whose tears.

They go over to sharing the bed as well, a change that somehow feels more intimate than the sex. Sam is like an octopus when he is sleeping, wrapping his long limbs around his brother like a human cocoon, making Dean feel warm and secure and loved. Sometimes he gently strokes over the other’s soft hair, watching the way the faint moonlight seeping through the curtains illuminates his skin, how it creates sharp shadows on his distinctive features.

These are the nights Dean feels safest, the nights he sometimes feels like his heart could burst when he looks at his baby brother and wonders how in hell he deserves that.

 *

His time in Purgatory is hard for Dean. Not only because he has to constantly fear for his life or because he really, really misses pie. He misses so many things that he never realized he had until now. He misses hot, extensive showers and greasy fast-food and long drives with the Impala, hell, even his much appreciated alone-time with _Busty Asian Beauties_.

But what he misses the most is Sam, of course it is. More often than not he catches himself turning around, wanting to share something with his brother who is _just not there_ , throwing a snarky comment at the thin air, almost dying because he waits for backup that’s not coming.

God, he misses him _so much_. He has trouble sleeping because his human blanket isn’t there to give him much-needed comfort. He misses looking up from whatever he is doing and seeing Sam sitting at the table, crouched over his laptop and burying himself in research. He misses the tingling sensation on his lips whenever they kiss, the feeling of soft, silky hair between his fingers. He misses just feeling his calming, reassuring presence whenever they’re hunting down some supernatural creature or even just sensing him in the passenger seat next to him while driving.

It gets a little better when he teams up with Benny, just because he isn’t alone anymore but it isn’t enough. They also sleep with each other because they’re both lonely and desperate and hungry (hell, they’re in fucking _Purgatory_ – things can’t get much worse, can they) but it’s not enough, it’s never enough.

He’s thankful for Benny, so thankful because he is company and protection and maybe even somewhat a friend but Sam is _always_ there in the back of his mind, no matter what he does. Every minute of every day he thinks about him, is never able to stop.

Later he finds out that Sam tried to fill the hole Dean left in his life with a woman and a dog, a normal, apple-pie life. He knows he shouldn’t blame him for that because well, he sort of did the same back then, right? But he still does, is so angry at his brother for just giving up on him (and a little bit for wanting someone else) and at the same time he feels guilty for taking this life away from him again.

He is almost ashamed when he gives in to Sam standing awkwardly in front of his bed the first night after the more or less cheerful reunion, struggling for words because there’s too much to say and the tension between them is still so present Dean kind of feels like he is walking a tightrope. He sighs, folds back the covers and lets Sam crawl into the too small bed.

Sam’s fingers hover hesitantly over Dean’s chest, as if he isn’t sure how much he is allowed to do but Dean sighs again, drapes an arm around his shoulders and tucks him into his side, even though little Sammy is way too big for this now. Shame washes over him and lets him close his eyes, but it just feels so good after all this time.

His fingers find the other’s hair which is a few inches longer since he last saw him, gently stroking it and bringing out little content humming noises. In this moment, everything is just so much; there are so many conflicting emotions inside of him, anger, hurt, confusion, worry but at the same time so much love and ease and relief. For some reason his heart is aching and he is overcome by the urge to reach out for his brother even though he is _right there_ , wanting to make sure he is real and this is not just a weird dream materializing his deepest wishes.

He closes his eyes and a single teardrop escapes his eye and runs over his temple into his hair. He doesn’t really know if it is a happy tear or a sad tear, but either way he knows that he will never let this boy in his arms slip away ever again.

 *

The last time they kiss is when Sam lies on his deathbed in a hospital, several slowly beeping machines attached to him and a tube in his nose providing him with oxygen. Dean is sitting in his wheelchair next to the bed, holding the other’s wrinkled hand in his own, looking at him with tears in his eyes.

Despite dying a little too often to be acceptable for any human being, they made it to this… It had always been clear for them that they were standing absolutely no chance of getting old, of settling down and having a normal life. And yet here they are, old and rusty, having stepped back from hunting about ten years ago. It’s almost too good to be true.

Who would have thought that the way Sam Winchester finally goes out of this world would be in the most natural way possible?

Dean slowly intertwines their fingers and runs his other hand through his brother’s hair, thin and almost completely white now yet still as soft as ever.

They both know this is the end. Their time is up.

It doesn’t come surprising when Sam’s breath hitches in his throat, when his eyelids become heavy and his eyes start to close. Dean leans forward and gently lays his lips on those of his brother for a kiss so innocent and soft that it takes him back to when they were young and bold, without any knowledge or experience.

When he draws back there are a few tears running down his cheeks but he is not sad. Sam lets out his last breath, his fingers clutching Dean’s a last time before going slack, the machine’s steady beeps changing into a single ongoing one that announces the death of the only person Dean’s ever truly loved.

But Dean is not sad, far from it. He knows Sam is finally at peace, and he is going to be waiting in heaven for his big brother, for when his time comes.


End file.
